42
by emblah01
Summary: 'The boy looked at me with vicious eyes; animalistic, rabid, terrifying. He glared at me as he swung his sword, a sick smirk painting his lips. The boy in his arms scrabbled to free himself from his iron grip. His lips were coated in scarlet blood, dribbling down his chin.' Based on '42' by Coldplay. Rated T for angst and darker material. Complete.


'_Those who are dead are not dead; they're just living in my head. And since I fell for that spell, I am living there as well.' -42 by Coldplay_

* * *

I was screaming. I couldn't hear a sound but my blood pumping through my veins, my heart like a frightened rabbit's. My vision was tunneled on that one spot, fuzzy and unfocused.

The boy looked at me with vicious eyes; animalistic, rabid, terrifying. He glared at me as he swung his sword, a sick smirk painting his lips. The boy in his arms scrabbled to free himself from his iron grip. His lips were coated in scarlet blood, dribbling down his chin.

Thunk.

Rollrollrollroll.

At my feet was a fleshy, bloody mess that used to be my brother's head.

I felt sick rise in my throat.

Nonononononononono.

I screamed, my knuckles white around my knife. My vision tinted red. My body turned from human to animal. My mind was bombarded by visions of blood, his head.

Killkillkillkillkillkillkillkill.

Deaddeaddeaddeaddead.

Black.

I opened my eyes to the sound of circkets singing their nighttime song. It smelled like damp dirt. I wrinkled my nose. And decomposition.

I looked over to see someone lying beside me, soaked in scarlet blood. My throat closed. His throat was slit open in a red smile. His body was punctured by multiple stabs, leaves sticking to the wounds.

I gagged and screamed. I pushed myself up with my hands. My hands were stained with red.

"NO!" I cried and began scratching at them frantically.

Not real. Not real. Not real.

I ran, ran, ran. My chest hurting, my lungs puffing, my legs screaming. I hopped over harsh rocks sticking out of the overgrown earth, dodging trees. And I screamed.

Outoutoutoutout.

I wanted out.

I stopped running, my heels digging into the wet earth.

"This isn't a game!" I screamed, my chest in flames of pain. "This isn't a game! You sicken me! I hope you perish in the flames of hell!" I saw his body, I saw his head. Rolling, rolling, rolling.

Bile rose in my throat. I opened my mouth a spewed blood. I covered the ground like a scarlet blanket.

I sank to the ground, my sobs overcoming me, tearing my throat apart like knives.

I closed my eyes shut.

Darkness.

Yes, I liked the darkness.

I shut them tighter. I saw stars.

I liked the stars.

I curled up on my side succumbed to the darkness and the stars.

I woke with a start, my lungs screaming for air.

"Annie!"

It was dark. It was night. They were coming for me. The boy with the throat like a red smile and the eyes like an animal. My brothers, carrying his fleshy, bloodied head under his arm. President Snow, his snake-like eyes and his cold, puffy lips, grinning like a madman.

"Annie, calm down."

I thrashed around, ropes wrapping around my limbs and neck like snakes. I kicked and punched, trying to stop them from coming at me. I scratched my hands that were caked in dried blood.

Someone grabbed them away from me. "Annie," he insisted.

I gasped for air. I squeezed my eyes shut, attempting to block out the screams of the dying around me; the carnage and death.

He grabbed my hands, his touch gentle and comforting, and pulled them away from my face. I kept my eyes shut tight. He pressed his forehead to mine. "Come back to me, Annie," he murmured.

I slowed my breathing. The ropes were sheets. The dead were dead. I was okay.

I had to get back.

I opened my eyes to see a pair of bright blue eyes starring at me in worry.

Finnick's bronze hair was tousled and there were tear tracks running down his cheeks. He was shirtless, his skin glowing in the darkness of our room in District 13, and he was gripping my hands with his strong ones, pinning them to the mattress beneath us.

"Finn?" I asked in a hoarse voice, most likely from my screaming.

He removed his hands from mine and cupped my face, wiping the salty tears from my cheeks with thumbs.

I reached up, my hand shaking, and brushed his hair from his blue eyes.

"It's not real," I told him, almost a question.

He nodded. "It's not real, Annie."

"But you are," I stated, tracing my fingers lightly down his jaw line, feeling the stubble under my fingertips.

He closed his eyes. "I am real Annie," he said, "I will never leave you."

I nodded in agreement, because Finnick never breaks his promises.

He laid me back down, circling his arms around me, cradling me like a delicate glass ornament.

As I was slipping into oblivion once again, I heard Finnick whisper into my ear, "You'll get better, Annie. I promise."

* * *

_I was listening to some old Coldplay albums and came across and the song '42' and immediately thought of Annie Cresta and I simply couldn't let this spurt of inspiration go to waste._

_Lyrics on the top of the page are Coldplay's. I suggest you check out the song '42', though be warned that it is really alternative and definitely isn't mainstream at all._

_Please leave me a review telling me what you think; I would really appreciate it._

_-Lou_


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